A/N: Thanks for all the feedback already! I'll try to post chapters regularly, seeing as this story is already finished, it's just the matter of editing and revising. As always—enjoy, and feel free to message me or follow me on tumblr: rcgulus-bllack.

The door to the cottage opens before Darcy reaches it. At the sight of him in the threshold, leaning against the crooked door frame—looking effortlessly cool and making her weak in the knees—Darcy comes to an abrupt halt. A relieved sort of smile spreads on her face, her heart beating very fast and she thinks possibly skipping a few beats in the process, and Lupin gives her a small smile in return before walking towards her. She admires, for a moment, how casual he looks, how natural and relaxed he looks instead of being dressed in semi-professional wear or robes. Part of her misses him dressed nicely—a loosened tie around his neck, pulling down the collar of his shirt to place a chaste kiss on his neck. Even in the warm summer air, Lupin wears a thin shirt with sleeves that cover much of his scarred arms, the long sleeves bunched up halfway up his forearms, barely concealing the bite Darcy knows is there.

Before she even has the chance to offer him a breathless greeting, Lupin wraps his arms around her and pulls her right to his chest. "I'm so glad you're all right," he murmurs into her hair.

Darcy slowly wraps her arms around his neck, slightly perplexed, but smiling all the same, feeling rather pleased with herself for coercing such a reaction out of him. "Of course I'm all right," she answers, pulling away from him and letting her hands linger upon his broad shoulders before lowering them to her sides. She continues to smile up at him dreamily. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Here, let me help you with this."

She expects Lupin to pick her trunk up himself, waiting to admire the strain and muscle in his forearms, but instead he takes his wand out and waves it almost lazily. This surprises Darcy, as being at Privet Drive and having to hide her magic from the Dursleys has sometimes made her forget she's old enough to even use magic whenever she wants over the summer. Darcy's trunk floats behind them as they walk back to the cottage, shoulder to shoulder.

As Darcy and Lupin cross over the threshold inside, she's hit with an overwhelming smell of food—of real food, more food than she's likely eaten all summer. Sure enough, he's prepared food just as she's asked him to, and many of the foods she's been dreaming about—she can distinctly smell the savory smell of bacon and hears it sizzling in a pan, a carton of eggshells still sits on the counter, and the smell of coffee is the thing that almost sets her over the edge. Darcy feels a rush of gratitude towards Lupin for this gesture, wanting to kiss him so much, right now, but she's far too embarrassed and nervous to kiss him not five minutes into her stay.

The inside of the cottage is very different from the outside. While the outside is crumbling and dirty and dilapidated, the inside is warm and in a state of repair, it seems. A large fireplace big enough for both Darcy and Lupin to stand in relatively comfortably (being so tall, the both of them would have to duck) is the first thing Darcy notices, and the warmth from the fireplace washes over her. Set in front of the hearth is a long, aged sofa, angled to face the streaked window and—to Darcy's surprise—a television, which is tuned to a news station at low volume. There's another squashy looking armchair in the corner of the room, not at all matching with the sofa. The few windows let in a generous amount of light, and Darcy is glad to see Lupin still relies on electricity instead of candles and oil lamps like at Hogwarts. She turns around to view the small kitchenette, complete with sink, stove, refrigerator, and oven—bacon and sausages cook in pans on the stove, the source of the delicious smell, and opposite the counters against the wall is a decent-sized island with three mismatched stools pushed against it. Beyond the living area is another room, presumably leading the bedroom and bathroom.

Darcy looks around the room once more, and then turns to Lupin, who rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, not meeting her eyes. There's shame written all over his face. "Like I said, it's . . . it's not a whole lot, but I was able to fix it a bit with the salary Dumbledore was paying me. He was quite generous—unnecessarily so, I think, but . . . it's home."

"I love it," she says breathlessly, not looking away from him. Darcy's eyes then take in Lupin's appearance. His hair is different—that's the first thing she notices. Usually rather shaggy, it has grown out a little in the time since they've last seen each other. It falls into his eyes in earnest now, and Lupin continues to push it back out of his face, giving his head a shake to get it out of his eyes, the gray streaks especially pronounced in the sunlight that shines through the window. Coarse hair, light brown and also flecked with gray, covers his face, trimmed and even compared to the usually patchy beard he typically wore over the last year due to tiredness.

Finally, Lupin looks at her in the face again, his shame seemingly evaporated by Darcy's warm sentiment. His eyes sweep over her, and Darcy is suddenly very conscious of how she must look to him. She forces her hand to remain at her side in order not to give anything too obvious away, almost instinctively raising it to her left cheek, where there's still some light bruising. Her fingers are a little bruised, and Darcy curses herself for wearing a dress that reveals the back of her thighs, where welts are still present from a caning just a few days prior. She's also very aware that she must look severely underfed—she normally does after every summer, just not as badly as this—and sickly. Darcy blushes thinking about her appearance, and finds herself inwardly hoping her embarrassment will at least put some color back into her face.

"You look . . ." Lupin stops himself, clenching his jaw, his eyes settling on her bruised cheek. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything in any of your letters?" His fingertips brush lightly against the bruise on her cheek, but Darcy stops him. Lupin frowns, lowering his hand and taking the hint.

"It isn't as bad as it usually is," Darcy admits sheepishly, her stomach growling. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm here now."

"And Harry?"

"What about Harry?" she asks, hoping Lupin will forego the current topic for something more interesting—like the large amount of food currently waiting to be eaten.

"Is he covered in bruises and hurts, as well?" Lupin says again, his voice lower, almost a growl.

"No," Darcy replies quickly and sternly. "No, Vernon doesn't usually hit Harry." When Lupin opens his mouth in answer, Darcy adds, "I'd rather not talk about this right now."

Lupin hesitates, but closes his mouth. When Darcy's stomach roars again, this time louder than ever, he seems to remember the food he's been cooking. "You must be hungry. Your letters had me worried. Have you had breakfast?"

"I'm starving, actually," Darcy sighs loudly and contently. Lupin smiles at her as she takes a seat at one of the stools at the island.

Lupin loads her plate with all kinds of food—eggs, bacon, sausages, toast, fruit (however, tired of fruit for breakfast, she shakes her head and Lupin dumps it back into a bowl with a laugh). They sit together at the island, and between mouthfuls of food, Darcy tells Lupin all about the diet Dudley had been put on, how she and Harry had only kept from starving by eating mostly candy leftover from their time at Hogwarts. Darcy eats three platefuls of food, still eating long after Lupin is done and eating until her stomach rolls violently, yet he sits patiently until she's finished, listening all the while with both amused and angry expressions, switching back and forth.

"I would have sent you food had you asked," Lupin finally says, taking her empty plate to the sink rinsing it off. "Why didn't you?"

Darcy waves an impatient hand, feeling very full and tired. "It wasn't a big deal." Her stomach begins to ache, not having eaten so much for a little while now. Darcy tries to remember when her last real, true meal had been that hadn't left her feeling hungrier. All she can think of is the end of the year feast—but here, sitting with Lupin and eating food that he'd cooked for her, is better than any feast she's ever had at Hogwarts.

Lupin looks at her, shaking his head. "It's a big deal to me, Darcy." He suddenly looks around wildly, startling her. "You didn't bring Max?"

"No," she says. "I thought it would be kinder to leave him with Harry. You know, just to save your fingers and all that." Darcy yawns, rubbing her face with her palms. "Can we sit on something more comfortable?"

Nodding eagerly, Lupin gets to his feet. Darcy follows him to the sofa and as soon as she sits down, she melts into it, not having realized how exhausted she is. He picks up the day's newspaper and Darcy recognizes Fudge on the front page, seemingly yelling, though the photograph is silent. The thought of Fudge's disbelief when Sirius had escaped just a few weeks ago makes her smile. She wonders where her godfather is now.

"I'm glad you're here, Darcy," Lupin says, looking sideways at her, a pink tint to his cheekbones.

"Me too. I missed you."

Darcy makes herself more comfortable, draping her legs over Lupin's lap, and within seconds, she's asleep.

Darcy sleeps most of the first day, occasionally opening her eyes just a tiny bit whenever she hears a noise. Lupin moves around the house quite a bit—she wakes once to find a warm blanket draped over her, and she wakes again a little while later when Lupin fumbles with some soapy plates in the sink. Each time her eyes flutter open, the sun is lower and lower in the sky, but Lupin never shakes her awake or speaks to her or disturbs her—he allows her to sleep as long as she wants, until dinner, that is, and Darcy wakes again when he whispers into her ear.

"Are you hungry, love?"

Darcy opens her eyes, looking into his face, so close to hers. His lips so close to her skin makes her blush, his whispered voice sending shivers down her spine. She smiles at him, and he smiles back. "Yes," she says. "Very."

Lupin fills a plate with pork chops and thick, brown gravy, roasted red potatoes, and string beans, letting her eat on the sofa in front of the television. He joins her, and they eat in silence, watching a sitcom with a laugh track that Darcy's never seen before in her life. It's a comfortable silence, and there's a sort of freedom present that slightly unsettles her. At Privet Drive, Darcy would never be allowed to eat such copious amounts of food while watching the television, nor would she be allowed to sleep on the sofa as long as she pleased. Even at Emily's home, Mr. and Mrs. Duncan are always around—one or the other—checking in on Darcy and Emily and making sure they're doing something. While Mr. Duncan had always been perfectly satisfied with the two of them sitting in front of the television all day, Mrs. Duncan had always preferred the girls to go do something, get out of the house and take advantage of the outdoors.

"I forgot to ask," Lupin says suddenly, breaking Darcy's train of thought and lowering his fork from his mouth. "How did your N.E.W.T.'s turn out?"

"Three Outstandings—Defense Against the Dark Arts—"

"—sleeping with your Professor helped, then?"

"Shut up," Darcy chuckles, flushing crimson. "I earned that Outstanding."

"You did," he confirms, inclining his head slightly. "Go on. What other subjects did you pass with flying colors?"

"Potions and Charms, both Outstandings. Exceeds Expectations for Transfiguration and Herbology, and an Acceptable for Ancient Runes."

"Your mother was exceptionally good at Charms," Lupin grins, returning to his dinner. "Did you know that?"

"No," Darcy shrugs, stuffing her mouth with string beans. "Almost everything I know about my parents, I know from you." Then she remembers something, and Darcy puts her plate on the table, turning in her seat to face him. Lupin raises his eyebrows at such an abrupt movement. "Aunt Petunia showed me a picture at the beginning of the summer, when I first got back from Hogwarts."

"Of what?"

"She said it was the last picture my mother ever sent to her," Darcy explains, remembering it fondly, wishing she'd brought it with her to show him. "It was of my parents, and you're in it, and Sirius, and . . . Peter was in it."

"He was?"

"I tore the picture so he isn't in it anymore. I have it hanging on my wall and didn't like the idea of Peter's picture being just above my head," Darcy replies quickly, feeling the need to explain herself. "And I'm in it, too. I'm laying in Sirius' lap, just a little girl." She runs a hand through her hair. "I miss him so much. I didn't know how much I'd miss him."

"I know you miss him, and I'm sure, wherever he is, that he's thinking of you."

Darcy falls asleep on the sofa again after dinner. It's nice to sleep, even if her dreams are invaded by Peter Pettigrew, the one face that she hates even more than Snape's. But this time, Lupin wakes her close to midnight, running his fingers through her hair gently to do so. Darcy wakes almost immediately, nuzzling into his palm when he touches her cheek with one of the lightest touches he's ever given her.

"Come on, love," he breathes, taking her hand and attempting to pull her off the sofa. "Come sleep in the bed."

Drowsy and groggy, and still—incredibly—sleepy, Darcy allows Lupin to pull her into the back bedroom. She barely has time to register the room and what's inside of it, climbing into the bed without getting undressed. Lupin covers her with the blankets and, for a split second, Darcy's heart begins to race, thinking Lupin will slide into bed beside her, to hold her and to kiss her, but he only places a very soft kiss to her temple and leaves the room, and when she wakes again come morning, bleary-eyed and disoriented, it doesn't seem as if the other side of the bed has been disturbed at all.

Lupin's waiting for her outside the bedroom, already fully dressed, the smell of coffee lingering in the air. Darcy walks dreamily towards him and the delicious smell at the kitchen counter, taking a steaming mug from Lupin's outstretched hand. "Sleep well?"

"Did you?" she asks, glancing towards the sofa, where there isn't any evidence he's slept there, either. "Did you even come to bed last night?"

Lupin considers her, eyes traveling up and down her body, the corner of his mouth twitching very slightly. He looks at her over the rim of his coffee mug, and doesn't speak until he sets it back on the counter. "Did you want me to?"

Darcy blushes, clearing her throat loudly. "Can we go to Diagon Alley today?" she asks, avoiding Lupin's intense gaze and sly grin. "I need to go to Gringotts."

"Of course. Let me know when you're ready."

Darcy takes her sweet time getting ready. Without the impatient tapping of Aunt Petunia's foot, it's very relaxing to be able to move at her own pace. Lupin waits patiently for her, and doesn't ask her once to hurry up—in fact, he doesn't pester her at all, except once, when he sticks his head into the bathroom while she's in the shower, asking if she wants breakfast (Darcy doesn't really count this as pestering, considering it very sweet—so much so that she nearly swoons). Privately, Darcy wishes he would join her in the shower, but part of her is glad he doesn't. Completely naked, Darcy notices more old, partially healed bruises that have been hiding under her clothes that she'd rather he not see. Another part of her doesn't know if she could handle such intimacy first thing in the morning, glad he isn't here to see the blushing mess just the thought of showering with him makes her.

Upon exiting the bathroom, Darcy dresses quickly and takes advantage of being shut inside Lupin's bedroom by herself. She looks around the room, careful not to rifle through anything that may be too personal or private. His bedroom is just a little bigger than his bedroom at Hogwarts had been, and much more decorated with personal effects. There are several photographs on the dresser—some in frames, and a very small stack beside them—and Darcy smiles at a few well-worn Gryffindor items hanging on one of the blank walls. It reminds her very much of she and Harry's bedrooms back in Privet Drive. Darcy picks up one of the framed photographs, an old and yellowing thing—this particular picture is of four boys, arms thrown around each other's shoulders, shuffling awkwardly together and flashing winning smiles at the camera and up at Darcy.

The boy on the end looks so much like Harry it takes her breath away momentarily. Their hair is exactly the same—untidy, dark, and thick, and his glasses occasionally slide down the bridge of his nose, but he pushes them up with his free hand nonchalantly and casually. Beside James is Sirius, just as he looks in all the old photos she's seen of him—handsome to a fault and haughty looking, high cheekbones and a straight nose and a smirk on his lips. Sirius's arm is wrapped right around Lupin's neck—shaggy, sandy colored hair desperately in need of a comb, smiling broadly. And beside Lupin is Pettigrew—fleshy and blond, nervous looking and very small when compared with the three others boys, reminding Darcy forcibly of Neville Longbottom, but much less cute.

"Darcy, love, are you dressed?"

Darcy jumps at the sound of Lupin's muffled voice. Still looking at the photograph, Darcy answers, "Yes."

Lupin opens the door and almost immediately spots Darcy looking at the photograph. She replaces it on the dresser and picks up another loose picture to busy herself. This one is just of Lupin, no more than sixteen, seated in what looks to be the Gryffindor common room, homework and books spread out on the table, reminding Darcy very much of Hermione. Every so often, the Lupin in the photograph looks up at the camera, offering a weak and tired smile before going back to his parchment, writing very quickly. The adult Lupin appears at Darcy's shoulder, looking at the photograph.

"You were very handsome," Darcy notes, smiling up at him before looking back at the picture.

Lupin laughs, snatching the picture from her hands. "You'd better stick to that story," he teases, examining the picture closely with a fond look upon his face. "Seventh year. Peter took that one."

"Let me see it again."

Lupin holds it out of her reach, raising his eyebrows. "You're looking at the real thing," he says with a toothy grin. "Am I suddenly not good enough for you now that you've seen a picture of me at my prime?"

"Your prime? You don't even have any facial hair in that picture." Darcy stops grabbing for the picture, throwing her wet hair over her shoulder. "It'll just be something to think about when I fall asleep tonight."

"Cheeky." Lupin shakes his head. "Come have breakfast, love."

They eat a quick breakfast; Darcy shovels food into her mouth, not leaving much room for conversation. As she continues to eat as much as she can, Darcy finds her thoughts wandering to Harry. She wonders what breakfast was at Privet Drive this morning, wonders if Harry is starving, dreaming of a breakfast such as she is eating. Darcy lowers her silverware and pushes her plate away, suddenly very disgusted with herself. Lupin notices her half-empty plate, however, and tilts his head.

"Was it all right?"

"Do you think Harry's all right?"

A crease appears between Lupin's eyebrows and he combs his hair back with his fingers. "I'm sure he's fine," Lupin answers slowly. "He'd send you a letter if he needed you. He knows you're here, doesn't he?"

"Yes, I know—he does, but—I've never done anything like this before and I—I don't want him to think that, well—"

"Darcy," Lupin interrupts, looking apologetic and hurt. "You don't have to be here, you know that, right? You're not my hostage . . . if you want to go back to Harry, I won't stop you. But I want you to know that I'd miss you terribly."

"No—! No, I just—this is so wonderful, and you're so wonderful. I want to be here . . . with you." Darcy sighs heavily, looking down at her plate, but it only makes her nauseous. She looks back up at Lupin, but his back is to her as he cleans up the mess he's made while making breakfast. "I know you asked him if it was all right to see me. He told me, you know."

Lupin looks over his shoulder at her just long enough for Darcy to see the faint blush that's crept up his face, making his cheeks pink. She smiles, her heart melting, knowing that she has the ability to make a grown man flush. "I thought it would be easier to ask Harry for permission than Sirius," he admits finally.

This gives Darcy pause. "What do you think Sirius would say?" she asks quietly, and Lupin stops cleaning, turning around again and leaning against the counter. "I haven't told him, not that I've really had the time."

"Nor have I, though we haven't been writing regularly as I'm sure you are," Lupin sighs. He digs his hands deep into his pockets, thinking hard for a moment. "I don't see a reason why Sirius should know about, er—what we've done, until things are a little more . . . ah . . . decided between us. Though, I think he noticed our . . . closeness . . when we were all in the Shrieking Shack."

"He suspects something, I'm sure of it," Darcy says indifferently, remembering their conversation as they had all walked through the tunnel towards the base of the Whomping Willow a few weeks ago. "He mentioned something about us being close, and then the first letter he sent me, it said—" It's Darcy's turn to blush now. "Nothing, it's nothing. Never mind."

"He said nothing?" Lupin smiles nervously.

"He said something, but it's . . . can we just go now?" Darcy feels very hot and uncomfortable, despite the light clothing she has on.

"Of course," he chuckles. "We can Apparate, or if you're more comfortable with Floo Powder, we—"

"No!" Darcy interjects quickly, remembering her first time using Floo Powder. It had been at the Burrow, incidentally, and Darcy had gone just after watching Mr. Weasley and Ron. The entire Weasley family had assured her that she was going to be all right, but Darcy hated the feeling of being licked by strangely cool flame, hated the feeling of being spun around and around and around, and especially hated being shot out of the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace without warning with soot in her mouth and eyes and her elbows hurting from knocking into the walls of the fireplace. Darcy had swallowed enough ash that day to last her a lifetime, and when Harry had missed the correct fireplace, Darcy had lost control of herself. "We can just Apparate. I have my license."

"Good," Lupin shrugs, clearly happy with this choice. "Much cleaner."

Fifteen minutes later, Darcy clutches onto Lupin's arm as they turn on the spot just outside of the cottage. Still not used to it, despite having her license, the sensation makes her dizzy and unsteady once their feet meet the cobbled ground of Diagon Alley. Lupin holds onto her for a moment, his hands pumping heat through her skin and into her very veins and being, and when Darcy regains her balance, they walk up to Gringotts.

So early in the summer, Diagon Alley doesn't seem as busy as it normally does. Without students hustling and bustling up and down the streets, blocking shop window displays and doorways and arguing over broomsticks and where to take lunch, its quite nice, despite the overcast, gray, London sky. Even the goblins at Gringotts get her down to her vault reasonably quickly, and after a few strange looks regarding her unusual request to trade some Galleons for Muggle money, the goblin obliges her, greedily grabbing at the golden coins from her upturned palm during the exchange.

With food in her stomach, money in her pocket, and Lupin's hand in hers, Darcy drags him from shop to shop. They spend hours window shopping, prowling through the apothecary, buying candy they've never tried before. They laugh together—Darcy can't remember laughing so easily while at Privet Drive—and share shy smiles and enjoy each other's company. Darcy hardly lets go of his hand all day, relishing the feeling of his fingers occasionally lacing with hers. For weeks she had craved his touch, had felt it only in dreams, and Darcy suddenly realizes how little contact they've had. She makes it a point to hold onto his arm or squeeze his hand as much as she can, and she gives him little distracted touches every so often. After a while, Lupin insists on stopping for Florean Fortescue's for ice cream when it begins to drizzle. Even the sight of Florean lifts her spirits, and he brings Darcy her favorite ice cream sundae.

"Where's your brother today, Miss Potter?" Florean asks with a smile, returning with Lupin's ice cream.

"Home, sir," Darcy tells him, digging into her own ice cream sundae. "You'll see us both again at the end of the summer, I'm sure."

"All right," Florean says, and before turning he adds, "Make sure to keep all four legs on the ground, Potter."

Everything goes well the rest of the day—the sprinkling rain stops falling and the gloomy clouds keep the hot sun from beating on them. It's freeing to be with Lupin and not have to worry about anyone seeing them, freeing to know she can touch him however she'd like. So far, Darcy hasn't seen anyone she knows, but she doesn't care anymore. Let others see them—let them see how much she cares about him, how much he cares about her. Let them see the way Lupin puts ugly and ridiculous sunglasses onto her face and laughs at her, let them see the way Lupin laughs loudly when Darcy makes jokes, laughing as if he is no more than a boy again. She wants people to see how happy this man makes her, and eventually, they get the chance while they're looking at a cart full of books.

"We could read one," Darcy suggests, pulling out a dark green book. The cover has a very handsome man on it with long hair, and a beautiful woman at his feet, her hair blowing in the wind. She turns it over, reading the back. "This seems promising." She raises her eyebrows. "And very erotic."

Lupin, in turn, holds up a book with a werewolf on the front, but Darcy has a feeling whoever drew the picture has never seen a werewolf in their life. He reads the back outloud. "'A love story for the ages.'" Lupin eyes scan the rest of the synopsis and he chuckles, placing it back where he'd found it. "Also very erotic."

"How fitting," Darcy mumbles absentmindedly, pulling out another book without a title on it. She opens it to the middle of the book and something squirts from the pages, hitting her in the forehead. "Christ—what the hell was that?"

The man behind the cart apologizes profusely, looking harassed and red-faced. "I'm sorry—I should have warned you—"

Lupin waves his wand quickly, making the gooey liquid disappear from her face. He laughs, putting his wand away.

"Do I want to know what that was?" she asks the man warily.

He frowns. "Probably not."

Darcy looks back at Lupin, brushing her hair out of her face and smiling at him. She takes his hand in her's again and he gives it a gentle squeeze. "Is it gone? Do I look all right?"

"Beautiful as—"

"Potter!"

Both Darcy and Lupin turn around quickly, and at the sight of Professor McGonagall, Darcy is so surprised that she only lets go of Lupin's hand when McGonagall's eyes flick down to them. Darcy feels her face turn red, and even Lupin has the decency and grace to look slightly abashed. Professor McGonagall smiles curtly at them both, approaching a little closer.

"What are you doing here, Professor?" Darcy asks casually, trying her hardest not to look too ashamed.

"I, like you, enjoy spending the summer out and about, Potter," Professor McGonagall replies with a very small smile. "Believe it or not, we teachers have lives outside of Hogwarts." She glances at Lupin. "Remus, how have you been? I am sorry about what happened, truly."

Lupin shrugs, grimacing. "The truth would have come out eventually. Might as well have been at the end of the year."

"Regardless, I think all three of us can admit that it was handled poorly." McGonagall looks from Lupin to Darcy and back again, eyes glancing down to their hands again to see the backs of their fingers brushing. Darcy puts a little distance between them. "Congratulations, by the way, Potter. Your grades were just as excellent as I thought they would be. N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration is some of the most advanced magic that is taught at Hogwarts. An E is very admirable."

Darcy smiles, flushing with pride. "It's not an O," she jests. "But I suppose my Transfiguration grade won't matter where I'm headed."

"You can still get very far in a career with an E," Professor McGonagall says, not unkindly, seeming a little prideful, as well. "Remus got an E in N.E.W.T. Transfiguration, as well. Had he been a little less busy pulling pranks with his friends and kissing girls in broom closets, perhaps he could have scraped an O."

To Darcy's surprise, Lupin laughs outloud, seemingly ten years younger. "I don't think it matters much," he teases, grinning down at Darcy, sounding only a little bitter. "Not a single job I've ever held has been determined by my Transfiguration N.E.W.T. Like you said, an E is very admirable."

The three make small talk for a few more minutes before Professor McGonagall checks a pocket watch and insists she needs to get on with her shopping. Lupin suggests they leave soon, as well, if they want plenty of time to eat dinner. Darcy watches after McGonagall, wishing she had the ability to read minds, if only to know what she'd really been thinking upon seeing them holding hands. She wonders if McGonagall is racing off to tell Dumbledore right away.

Lupin takes her hand again, laces their fingers together, and brings Darcy back to her senses. She looks up at him, waiting for him to take the lead and Disapparate. "Did you hear me, Darcy?" he asks, chuckling. "Where are you?"

"I'm here. What did you say?"

"Nothing," he says, but Darcy doesn't quite believe him. Though, by his sly smile, she doesn't think he's going to repeat himself. "Are you ready, love?"

Darcy nods, and within seconds, feels her feet leave Diagon Alley, traveling through space and time towards the cottage she feels is home.